Jane Eyre of the Modern Era
by Leben ist Magie
Summary: What would Jane Eyre be like if she were born in modern times, with our new philosophies and conventions? I will attempt as true a characterization as possible. On a most possibly permanent hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Eyre (or Mr. Rochester, unfortunately).

A/N: I would just like to let you know that I am not British, and will therefore probably make a few errors (about how the school systems work and such) because of my ignorance. If you find one, feel free to tell me (because I won't notice otherwise).

There was no possibility of taking a walk on that day. The rain had started midmorning and persisted throughout the afternoon, rendering the gardens a swampy, muddy mess. Such weather was to be expected in early April, although my cousins did not seem to understand this. Their restless behavior prompted me even more strongly than usual to find some small, out of the way corner where I could disappear for a few hours with a good book. Today, that corner was on a window seat in the library, with the curtains drawn to protect me from any eyes that sought to do harm. I burrowed there, like some hibernating animal, and waited for the entrance of spring in the form of peace and bedtime.

Unfortunately, it seems fate had a different plan for me. My cousins, whose complaints and restless cries had been for a moment settled with the promise of ice cream, were now roaming the halls with their melting cones, in pursuit of a more satisfying game.

"John, I'm bored! What should we do?" asked the eldest, Lizzy Reed.

"I dunno," replied John, her younger brother.

"Say, we haven't seen Jane much today," said Georgie, the youngest.

"Must be hiding from us, the wimp," said John. "How about a game of find-the-mope?"

Find-the-mope was the game they had invented upon my arrival five years ago. The first one who found me (the "mope", as my nickname had become) won, and earned a point (they had even developed a point system on which to keep track of victories). They could also pick on me in any way they pleased before the others got there. Needless to say, I was not very fond of the game. Passionately hoping not to be found, I hunkered down even more in my little sanctuary, and even ceased to breathe as the footsteps wandered by the closed library door.

"Oh Jane, come out, come out, wherever you are," called John in a sing-song voice from outside the door. "Is she…in the library?" he spoke as he opened the door. The house being a very old establishment, everything in it seemed to creak monstrously. My cousin's feet—which were by no means graceful or cautious—on the floorboards constantly alerted me of his whereabouts and he stalked through the room.

Lizzy took that moment to pop her head in. "She's behind the curtain, you doofus."

John promptly ripped them away and scowled as he observed my cowering form. "That still counts as my point; I actually did the finding," he said to his sister.

Lizzy narrowed her eyes. "You would never have found her if I hadn't told you. Besides, I'm older than you."

John's scowl increased, but he couldn't find a suitable argument and so turned back to me, intending, I suppose, to enact the bitterness of his defeat on my small person. His scowl turned into a mocking grin. "Well, well, what have we here? A little sneak, I think." He snatched the book I had been reading, Gulliver's Travels, out of my hands.

"Give it back!" I shouted, leaping up. My anger was rising, and could not be quelled by the fact that my cousin was fourteen, and therefore a considerable amount larger than I, who, at ten, was the shrimp of my class at public school. "Give it back, or I'll tell Bessie on you!"

"You will, will you?" John sneered. "Bessie wouldn't believe you any more than Mama would, you know."

This I knew very well, but I did not want John gaining the upper hand, so I hopped off the seat and drew up to my full height (which was not much), intent on trying to intimidate him, if nothing else.

John stared at me for a minute and laughed. "Check it out, Lizzie: the mope's trying to scare me."

"She's not doing a very good job, I'd wager," drawled his sister.

"Beat her up, John!" By this time Georgie had found out where we were, and had also wandered into the library. She watched her two cousins and me from a corner, her chocolate ice-cream-smeared mouth hanging slightly open in the vacant expression she always seemed to wear.

"Don't talk nonsense, Georgie. That would be almost too mean." Spoke John. Instead, he dangled the book above me with his thumb and forefinger, and dared me to fetch it. After more than a few fruitless attempts, he laughed and chucked it across the room. "Now look what you've done! That's private property, you know. Mama's not going to be very pleased about this at all…"

By now I was angered beyond the point of control. I mustered up the worst curse word I knew at that point, and shouted "poop-face!" as I flung myself at him. He snarled and pushed me hard in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, the wall directly behind me was covered by a large glass-windowed book shelf. I crashed into it, shattering the fragile doors and sending large fragments in every which-way. Pain filled my senses as I sank to the floor. I felt a trickle of blood run down my forehead.

John, Lizzy, and Georgie had all managed to avoid the spray of glass and now stood, white-faced, at the door-way.

"It wasn't my fault," said John. "It definitely wasn't."

"She's going to get into so much trouble," said Georgie, in her lisping, seven-year-old wisdom.

I felt my eyelids flutter closed, but not before I heard the shrieks of my aunt Reed, and behind her, the nanny, Bessie, who had both come running when they heard the crash.

"Oh! My precious book-cabinet! That beastly girl!" she cried.

My vision slowly filled with black as I slumped to the ground.

* * *

I seemed to drift in and out of consciousness for a period of time. I was unable to count the exact amount of time, but my senses seemed to know that it was for quite a while. When I finally did wake, I found myself in a white room, on a white bed, and in a blue-and-cream patterned hospital gown. I realized that I must be in the hospital, because of my surroundings and my bandaged limbs. There was also a large tube stuck to one of my hands, which I supposed to be an IV. Looking to my right, I found a darkened window.

A noise on the other side of my room caused me to divert my attention to a portly nurse who had just bustled into the room with a, in my opinion, unseemly amount of energy and cheerfulness. Noticing I was awake, she smiled. "Well 'ello, love!" she exclaimed. "T'would seem ye've finally gotten it inter yer 'head to wake up! Now I've jus' gotta check on yer vitals and then I'll call in th' doctor!"

She pushed a large cart over to my bed and took my blood pressure, recording the results on a clipboard. She then took my pulse and checked on one of the gadgets over my head before leaving the room as quickly as she had come in.

Some time later, a wizened old man with a short grey beard and glasses came into the room. He checked on the clipboard the nurse had stuck on the end of my bed, and pulled a chair up next to me.

"Well, then, Jane. It would seem as if you'd had a bit of an accident, eh? Tripped and crashed right into a glass cabinet?" He took another look at the clipboard.

I had already realized that my cousin must have invented a story about the accident to put me in way of the fault, but I felt too tired and in too much pain to care or attempt to correct it. My limbs and head seemed to burn with fire, as if I had been seared instead of cut.

The doctor looked back up again. "Well, then. Jane, I am Dr. Lloyd, and it is my job to make sure you're getting better and not in any pain. Are you in any pain, Jane?"

I managed to nod my head. My mouth felt too dry to try and answer in words.

"We'll soon fix that, then. Where are you hurting, Jane?"

I managed to mumble "everywhere," although it was so faint I was afraid Dr. Lloyd hadn't heard. It was with relief that I saw him nod and scribble something on the clipboard. "And how much pain, Jane? If you had to give it a number between one and ten, what would it be?"

"Nine and three quarters," I replied.

"Well, at least it's not ten, then, eh?"

I managed to grunt, although I knew he probably wasn't expecting a reply. He got up off the chair and put the clipboard back.

"Well, I'm going to have to visit the next patient now, Jane, but as you can see, the TV is on, and I'll put the remote by your hand." He took the remote and placed it by my right. "Your aunt and cousins are going to be visiting later, too, to help cheer you up, I'm sure. And you shouldn't stay here for too long; I'd wager you'll be back in your own bed before the end of the week. Goodbye for now, Jane."

"'Bye, Dr. Lloyd," I said, as he exited.

The doctor's predictions were correct, and not three days later I was discharged from the hospital (much to my chagrin; I liked the nurses who came by to check my vitals, and Dr. Lloyd, who would stop by every once in a while to cheer me up). My aunt and cousins behaved almost kindly to me, talking to me as they would a very distant acquaintance. Unfortunately, as I passed over the threshold of their house once more, that behavior immediately ceased. I was confined to my bed for two days after I got back, but in that time my aunt came up and made it very clear that I was still in trouble (and she was still angry), no matter how injured I had become. My cousins slowly started back up in their taunts, although it wasn't as fun when their prey was lying passively on her bed, barely speaking. I also found I couldn't eat much, and had no reason to. My spirits were very low, and Bessie often came up to find me sobbing quietly into one of the books she had managed to procure for me, in order to occupy my time. I knew that because of this incident, something had shifted in the household. I didn't know quite what, but I knew that they balance could not be regained; nothing would ever be the same.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Eyre...

A/N: Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking: "Where the hell did the red room go? And her uncle's ghost? Those are really important to the development of Jane's character!" And I do realize that, and apologize for omitting them...but this is the modern era, after all! Not as much belief in superstition. Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

On the surface, life continued as it had always done, with only a few minor changes. My aunt forbade my cousins from trying to intimate contact of any sort with their 'beastly cousin.' I was, understandably, quite happy with my alienation. I never felt as though I belonged to the Reed family, and although I had, in my first few years of my coming to their home, yearned to be a part of it, I no longer felt any prolonged strains of the sentiment. 

My sense of foreboding continued, which greatly disturbed me. I became so depressed that not even the thought of books or candies could cheer my spirits. However, I soon found a justification for my bad humor

About four weeks after my incident, my aunt called me downstairs to the living room (the most cared-for room in the house, and the place where visitors were received). I had, moments before, heard a car pulling up the driveway and a visitor greeted in the foyer. Although curious, I was more interested in the book in my lap, and assumed the visitor would not have anything to do with me, anyway.

I crept quietly down the stairs, so that my aunt and the visitor would not be immediately alerted to my presence, and would allow me to inspect the stranger. The loud dialogue between them was enough to alert me of the subject:

"I really am so glad you could come to the house, Mr. Brocklehurst. I can't tell you what an honor it is to have you here," gushed my aunt.

"It is no trouble," said the stranger. Peeking through a crack in the door, I was able to see that he was quite tall and angular, with a very harsh face and stern eyes. He seemed to me like a prison warden from one of the books I had just read.

Mr. Brocklehurst went on: "I am certain that your—niece, did you say?—will find Lowood School to be both instructive and illuminative. She will undoubtedly be grateful of the opportunity."

"Oh yes," breathed my aunt. "You did say that it provided rigid disciplinary measures?"

"To be sure—you will find none of our teachers employ leniency, and enforce all the basic principles of both God's Word and the school. We also spurn idleness and sloth-like behavior."

"Wonderful, wonderful," murmured my aunt. "And it is possible for young Jane to stay at the school for all holidays?"

"Of course: we have a large number of staff and faculty who stay to oversee those girls whose families wish them to remain in our able hands."

The conversation paused, and I took this time to knock on the door and announce my presence. My aunt and Mr. Brocklehurst watched me as I came in, the latter gazing upon me as a hawk would a mouse.

"She is small," he remarked. "What is your age, child?"

"I'm ten, sir."

"Very slight, for a ten-year-old," he mumbled. "And your name, child?"

"Jane Eyre, sir."

"Tell me, Jane Eyre: should you like to go to boarding school?"

I thought upon this for a moment, before answering, "yes, sir."

"Do you get satisfactory marks in your school now?"

"She gets along very well, Mr. Brocklehurst," interrupted my aunt. "She's one of the top in her class."

"Very good. I suppose you have learned the merits of hard work, then?"

"Yes, sir."

He made a grunt of, what I supposed to be, satisfaction. "All girls at the Lowood School must strive to succeed, and this cannot be achieved without a large measure of hard work and persistence. I therefore find these traits extremely valuable in young pupils." He turned his attention back to my aunt. "Very well. The next semester will begin in one week. I will expect her to arrive on Sunday, in time for orientation. The list of necessary items to bring along is in that packet I gave you. 'Till Sunday, then, Mrs. Reed."

My aunt nodded as she hurried to the foyer on the heels of Mr. Brocklehurst. "Yes, Mr. Brocklehurst: Sunday. Good-bye for now!"

One the man had exited in his car, my aunt turned to the kitchen. "Bessie!" she hollered. "We have packing to do!"

On Sunday evening, after a long and tiresome car ride, I found myself ushered inside a large stone building (more of a fortress than a school). The front hall was mostly empty and sparsely furnished. A few girls, at least three or four years older than me and dressed in somber-colored uniforms, stood at the far end, by a large staircase. Their whispers and hushed giggles seemed to echo throughout the cavernous hallway.

From one of the doors lining the foyer came a slim, severe-looking woman, smartly dressed in dark clothes. She immediately spotted my aunt and me, and strode briskly over to us. "Mrs. Reed, I presume?" she said, addressing my aunt.

"Yes, indeed, and this is my niece, Jane Eyre," spoke my aunt, pushing me forward. The woman glanced down at me sternly.

"I am Ms. Smith. I am to serve as both your history teacher and your resident director. Come, I will show you the dormitories." She waved a hand, signaling for me to follow. "You can have the bags sent up after the tour."

Lowood School was indeed a very cold, somber building. The gothic architecture was contrasted greatly by the modern dormitories that had been built behind it. While they had all the comforts of modern technology, it seemed the main building was lagging behind, still stuck in the nineteenth century. The electric lights were dim, and the rooms relied mostly on the large windows for visibility. When Ms. Smith led me outside, I was rendered momentarily blind due to the brightness of the day.

The campus itself was actually rather pretty. Ms. Smith told me that the school did employ a few gardeners, but that most of the cultivation was done by students at the school. She also added, as we passed by the cafeteria, that the girls took turns serving kitchen duty—washing dishes, assisting the cooks, and such. A large church with beautiful stained-glass windows sat on the boundaries of the campus, where students attended Mass every Sunday.

I was also informed that the school was not restricted to boarders. Many girls in the nearby towns also attended the school, because of its fame for good education and low cost.

My aunt looked very satisfied at the close of the tour. "This will do nicely, I'm sure," she said. I suspected she thought so more due to the fact that I could stay year round than due to the fact I would receive a good education.

After my things were delivered to the dormitories, my aunt gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before stiffly bidding me farewell, leaving Ms. Smith to show me where I would be staying.

"You will be provided with the school uniform, of course, and must wear it on all school days. Take care to keep it clean and stainless. Neatness is valued greatly at Lowood.

"You will be living with three other girls, all of whom are at your grade level. Act courteously to them, and you may expect the same. I am entrusting them to show you how we do things here." She guided me into a bright, fluorescent hallway. The walls were painted a dingy grey and the floor was lined with cheap carpeting. "Your room is number 187." She opened the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Eyre, Villette (both are by Charlotte Bronte), or Harry Potter.

A/N: I'm not as satisfied with this chapter, but I posted it anyway. I'm an impatient person: I eat the Oreo cream before the cookies (b/c it's so much better), and read books backwards to forwards. Likewise, I kind of just want to skip past Jane's childhood, but I know I can't do that. Also, please note that since this _is _Jane's childhood and I want her adulthood to also be in the modern era (i.e. 2007), these particular chapters are set in more of a 1990's time period...

* * *

After Ms. Smith unceremoniously shoved me into the dorm room and shut the door, I turned around to get my bearings. The room was small and square, colored by the same grayish paint as the hallway had been, but brightened by a large window set in the middle of the farthest wall. There were no curtains, but the cheap blinds had been pulled down (it was now nearer to evening). The room also seemed characterized by personality. There were two iron-framed bunk-beds, both pushed against the walls on opposite sides of the room. The beds of three were piled high with pillows, sheets, and blankets in loud colors. Two bureaus, piled high with clothes, hair items, shampoo, detergent, and food, stood sentinel by the ends of each bed. Two closets flanked the entrance to the room, where I was, and I could peep inside them and see that they were likewise filled with both the somber colors of the school uniforms and with normal clothes. Shoes were scattered about the floor of the room. 

Three girls looked up from their places on the beds. All appeared to be around my age, and were either reading or sleeping. One had earphones on, but when she noticed me she slowly took them off.

"Hello," said the girl with earphones. She had short, curly dark brown hair and tanned skin, and I could see that her nails were painted a vibrant shade of red. "I'm Mary Ann Wilson, but everyone calls me May. Except the teachers; to them, I'm 'Miss Wilson.'"

"You must be the new girl—what's your name, again?" asked the girl in the bunk above May. She had black hair and pale skin, and had just glanced up from a book. I strained to read the title: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. I smiled; it sounded like a book I would enjoy reading.

"I'm Jane Eyre," I said. By now I was nervous; these girls were to be my roommates for however long I stayed here, which I assumed to be quite a while.

"I'm Lucy Snowe," said the pale girl. "Nice to meet you. You're bunk's the one on top of Polly's." Lucy gestured to the opposite bunk bed. Indeed, the top bunk did not have anything on it but a sickly blue mattress. The girl underneath, who appeared to be fast asleep, had ringletted, light blonde hair, almost translucent skin, and was surprisingly small. "I think your stuff already got sent up, too. Are those your bags by the dresser?"

I glanced over, and indeed saw my things piled together by the dresser in front of my bed. "Yes," I replied.

"You should probably try to unpack before dinner. We always have 'bonding' time and hall meetings afterwards, and by the time they let us out you won't want to do anything but sleep," May suggested. "You should know that they always have dorm inspections on the first day of school, and if you're caught with a messy room…" she made a gesture by slicing one finger across her throat. "You'll be done for."

"You should talk." Lucy said to May. "All your junk is strewn everywhere. If you don't pick up after yourself we'll have kitchen duty for a month."

May made a face and turned back to me. "You don't want kitchen duty. You really, really, _really_, don't."

I nodded as I began to unzip one of the duffel bags. I had decided to first make the bed and then unpack my clothes, so I pulled out the mattress cover and bed sheets (which were luckily on the top).

"Need help?" asked Lucy.

"Sure," I said. "I've never made my bed on a bunk bed before."

"Really?" May asked, incredulous. "Haven't you ever been on a sleep-over or to camps?"

"No. My aunt had a nanny, so we never went to camps."

"What about a sleep-over?"

I shrugged. "I didn't have very many friends; my cousins picked on me too much. My aunt probably wouldn't have allowed it, any way."

"You lived with your aunt?" May wrinkled her nose. "She sounds like a grump."

I shrugged. "She was kind enough to take me in."

An awkward silence seemed to settle over the room. As much as I wanted to dispel it, I could not seem to find a good way of doing so. Instead, I unfurled the mattress cover. Lucy climbed down from her bed and came to help.

Not too long after finishing making my bed and unpacking all of my things, the dinner bell rang. It was loud and shrill, startling me so thoroughly I jumped and let loose a little shriek. The others giggled, except Polly, who had not yet woken up.

"You'll get used to the bell," they said. "We live by it here."

May bounded out of the room, but Lucy paused to wake up Polly. As the small girl blinked the sleep from her eyes, she glanced towards me. "Who is that?"

"That's Jane Eyre. Jane, this is Pauline Home."

"People call me Polly," she said.

"Nice to meet you," I replied. Polly stared at me for a minute, as if sizing me up, before she hopped off the bed and walked out the door, her expression strangely blank.

"Polly's an odd one," Lucy remarked, coming up next to me. "Dunno who she gets it from; when her dad dropped her off he was nice enough."

I nodded in reply. My stomach growled loudly, and I crossed my arms over my chest, embarrassed. Lucy only laughed.

"Do you know where the dining hall is? I might as well go with you, since we're both headed there." She took my arm and guided me out the door.

* * *

The dining hall looked much bigger from the inside. I would have felt rather lost of Lucy had not been there. As it was, I clung to her like a drowning man would a piece of driftwood. Hordes of girls swarmed around the yellow plastic tables, trying to get in the line forming next to a stack of trays and plates. Lucy grabbed me. "It's just your standard cafeteria food line," she managed to shout over the din. "But sometimes they run out of food before everyone gets some, so you have to try to get in the first part." 

"What happens if they run out before you get some?" I asked.

"They give you a cheese sandwich. They're small; I never stay full with one of them."

"What if you're lactose intolerant?"

"Are you?"

"No."

"Then don't worry about it."

"Okay." I looked around again. "Where's May and Polly?"

Lucy shrugged. "No idea. We'll probably find them later. C'mon, let's get in line." Taking me, she managed to wedge herself into the wall of girls and planted me next to her. There was a lot of pushing and shoving, but we stood our ground and managed to get some food. The staff behind the serving line plopped steaming portions of food onto my plate as I went by. I looked down and tried to guess as to what the meal might be. "Lucy?"

"Yeah?"

"What is that?" I pointed at the glob of dark brown, spotted with flecks of orange.

Lucy squinted at her own plate, sniffed it, and then tasted a bit. "Shepherds Pie, maybe; it would explain the mashed potatoes. It tastes okay." She seemed satisfied.

I tasted a bit. It wasn't what I had been used to back at my aunt's house; they had employed a cook as well as a nanny, and all of the meals had been wholesome and delicious.

Lucy turned to me again. "Do you want to sit with me? I don't know if you know anyone else here besides May, Polly, and me, but we all usually sit together."

Not knowing where else I would go, I replied, "Sure."

Lucy smiled and led me over to a table where May, Polly, and a few other girls were sitting. She plopped her tray down and said, "Everyone, this is Jane. Jane, this is everyone: Charlotte, Emily, Maria, and Anne. You already know May and Polly."

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," they replied, before resuming their conversation. I sat down and listened quietly, while trying to eat the 'Shepherds Pie' on my plate.

A little while later, another bell rang. This time, I managed to avoid yelling, but I did jump up a little. I took it as a good sign, anyway. All around me, girls were jumping from their seats.

"C'mon," said Lucy. "You have to put your tray on the conveyor belt—but dump your trash first."

"Okay," I said. Looking around, I tried to find either a trash can or conveyor belt.

"It's next to the food line," said a voice behind me. I turned around, looking for the owner. It was Polly. "Thanks," I said.

She blinked in response, before turning around and joining the other girls headed towards the doors.

We were all herded into the Gymnasium, a dull brick building next to the cafeteria, and split into groups. We were then instructed to play games to get to know each other better (I had guessed these were mostly intended to welcome newcomers), but most of the kids in my group stopped participating after instructions. I sat quietly and watched the girls around me until the bell rang again. I quickly located Lucy and May, and followed them back to our dorm room. In the scant thirty minutes before lights out, Lucy and I helped May pick up her things (no small task) and neaten the room as best as we could while still having time for brushing our teeth. Polly watched us as she methodically cleaned her area, folding all of her clothes with precision and even smoothing the bedcovers and fluffing her pillows, before finally crawling into her bunk.

After the lights were out, I stared up at the ceiling (which was much closer than it had been back at my aunt's house), listening the girls around me breathe. Sleep did not overcome me as soon as I would have wished: I was much too anxious about the day ahead.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own anything...

A/N: I do not usually update this quickly, btw...I just felt inspired. Thanks to all of you lovely reviewers!

* * *

The next day was Monday, and the start of the new semester. Ms. Smith came to collect me after I had dressed in the school uniform and eaten breakfast (watery oatmeal, which was only rendered eatable after a packet of sugar and some fruit had been mixed into it). She guided me into the large school building, through the foreboding foyer where I had first arrived yesterday, and down a dizzying maze of corridors, and then delivered me to what I deduced to be the main office of the school. A secretary sat with a large black typewriter just inside the door, and there were green leather chairs set out to serve as some sort of waiting area. She sat me down in one and went into an office with a bronze plaque on the door, which read "student services." I waited quietly, looking around the office at the gloomy paintings of landscapes, all either depicting rain or night.

A few minutes later, Ms. Smith came back out with a stack of paper and a manila folder. She handed them to me, saying, "This is your class schedule, map of the school, and copies of the bell schedule and the semester calendar. You will be expected to learn all of the information in that packet in the next few weeks. Any questions?"

I shook my head. "No, Ms. Smith."

"Very good. Academics are greatly valued at Lowood, and I expect you to succeed. Your aunt expects you to succeed. You have half an hour before classes start—I suggest you gather your school supplies and try to locate your first class. Your roommates can help you."

"Thank you, Ms. Smith," I said submissively.

'Well, go on, then!" She pointed towards the door. I went, although I then became immediately lost in the (what seemed to me) labyrinth of passages. I had to pull out the map of the school and re-check it every time I reached an intersection, and by the time I located the foyer it was already filling with girls. Racing back to my dorm room, I managed to gather up some school supplies and shove them hastily into my old school bag before the ten minute warning bell rang. Back in the foyer, I sought out Lucy and discovered we both started in the same class: math, taught by a Mr. Scatcherd.

* * *

I later found that not only was Mr. Scatcherd the only male teacher in the school (barring, of course, Mr. Brocklehurst); he was also the harshest and strictest. My first impressions of him lead me to agree with the popular consensus of the other students at Lowood.

After seating us alphabetically and handing out our textbooks, he launched right into a review of the previous year. Luckily, the last school I had attended was very good, so my worries about being behind the other students were groundless. After twenty minutes, he began drilling us. Again, he went alphabetically:

"Miss Aerie: the product of twelve and four," he barked.

"Fourty-eight, sir."

"Miss Baker: the difference of ninety and twenty two."

"Sixty-eight, sir."

"Miss Burns: the square root of one hundred and sixty-nine."

Silence.

"Miss Burns?"

The girl in question was tall and had short, curly red hair and sat in the middle of the first column. Her head was bent downwards and her gaze directed at something in her lap.

Mr. Scatcherd was livid. "Miss Burns!" he shouted. The girl jumped and looked up, startled. Mr. Scatchered walked down the row and snatched the book from her lap. "Reading in class, are we?" he sneered, snapping the cover shut. "And only the first day of school." His voice was laced with sarcasm. "How tragic. Get up, Miss Burns."

Miss Burns (I did not know her first name) got up, and walked to the front of the class next to Mr. Scatcherd. Her face was carefully blank.

"Get the ruler, Miss Burns."

The girl turned and picked up a wooden ruler from the ledge of the window. She handed it to Mr. Scatcherd. He grasped one end so tightly that his knuckled turned white.

"Hold out your right hand, Miss Burns."

She held out her hand impassively. I suddenly realized what was about to occur and my stomach lurched. I could only watch as Mr. Scatcherd brought the ruler down (hard) on the girl's palm.

_Smack! Smack! Smack! _

Miss Burns squeezed her eyes shut, but did not utter a sound.

_Smack! Smack!_

Mr. Scatcherd stopped, and Miss Burns cautiously opened her eyes. He looked at her disgustedly. "I see that this punishment did not suffice to correct you of your fault. You will report to me after class."

A rage slowly consumed me at the injustice of the matter. Did he not see the unshed tears in her eyes? Did he not see her tremble as she slowly walked back down the aisle and gingerly sit down at her desk? I searched of a word, any word, to describe his actions.

"Sadistic," I thought. "That word would surely be fitting for him."

Further exploration of my feelings was prevented, as Mr. Scatcherd barked "Miss Delaney: the sum of ninety-two and forty!"

* * *

Later, at lunch, Lucy and I related the story to the rest of the table. May was as outraged as I had been.

"How dare he? I didn't even know people were allowed to do that kind of thing any more!"

"Neither did I," I said. "Maybe we could report it."

"To whom? Do you know how hard-pressed this school is for teachers? They only employ about ten. I remember when I first came here—I was six—they had twice that."

"What happened?"

"Mr. Brocklehurst came. No one likes him—and if anyone did, it wouldn't matter; he made the decision to cut costs or something of the teacher's pay. I remember overhearing Frau Schwarz—the old German teacher—talking about it with Ms Temple."

Lucy shook her head. "It just isn't fair."

Polly sighed. "Life is never fair."

"Amen to that," said Emily, across the table.

* * *

The rest the school day passed uneventfully. My last class, chorus, was taught by Ms. Temple, who I became convinced was the only teacher with a kindred soul. I also shared this class with Miss Burns, but I was unable to talk to her.

After the bell rang, girls either headed off to the library to study, or went to the gymnasium to play sports. Since I had never been one for athletics, I opted for the library.

Once there, I found that I was at a loss for something to do. None of my teachers had assigned homework yet. Looking around, I spotted a now familiar tuft of frizzy red hair.

Miss Burns sat at a glossy oaken table, reading a book. From the colors on the cover, I was able to identify it as the same book Mr. Scatcherd had taken from her that morning.

"Hi," I said, sitting down in the chair next to Miss Burns.

She barely glanced up from the page. "Hello."

"What're you reading?"

"The Catcher in the Rye."

"What's it about?"

Miss Burns let me read the back cover. I decided it wasn't something I was likely to read: there were no mysteries, no magic, no fairies or spells. I gave it back.

"I'm Jane Eyre," I said. "I'm in a few of your classes."

"I know."

"I never got your first name."

"I'm Helen."

"Aren't you angry at Mr. Scatcherd? I would've told someone."

"Mr. Scatcherd was right to punish me; I have a fault, and it needs to be corrected."

I was appalled. "Maybe so, but he shouldn't have _hit_ you."

"What else was he to do?"

"Make you write sentences? That's what the teachers at my last school did."

Helen glanced up. "How would that correct anything?"

"After writing 'I will not talk back in class' one hundred times, one remembers."

"I prefer being hit; it is much quicker."

I didn't know how to reply; I saw her point, although I still believed it to be too harsh a punishment.

"Would you mind not asking any more questions? I'm reading."

"Okay." I got up, selected a book, and sat back down next the Helen, flipping to the first page. We stayed and read until the shadows outside the tall windows lengthened and the bell rang again. Helen shut the covers of her book.

"Are you done?"

"Yes. Would you like to go to dinner?"

"Yes; I'm starving." I hurried to put my book back on the shelf, and together with Helen, left the library.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Jane Eyre. I also got a lot of info from Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation (good book, but kind of gross).

A/N: This is the first of the depressing chapters. And yes, I do once again acknowledge that I'm omitting some very important details. Helen and Jane's relationship has evolved considerably, although you were not there to witness it. Just keep that in mind…

* * *

A month passed, by the end of which I found myself almost wholly adjusted to Lowood. Helen and I became great friends; our love of books and shared interests lent to our quick attachment. Since Helen was not a boarder, I only was able to see her on weekdays, although sometimes her family would invite me over for tea on Sundays. I lived for those times: Helen's family was the very image of what I had, in my lonely yearnings at the Reed's house, envisioned my own family would resemble if they had not decided to go driving on that one fateful evening, six years back. I had always had nightmares about that night.

Sometimes during study hall, we would also be joined by Ms. Temple, who soon became sort of an idol to Helen and me. She was open and genial, with a beautiful appearance and fashionable clothes, and had a quick, sharp wit. We could talk with her about anything—books, history, philosophy, et cetera—and have the most marvelous of conversations.

About six weeks into the new semester, Helen and her family invited me out to Sunday lunch. I quickly agreed; Lowood's food left much to be desired. While with them, I observed that Helen seemed much quieter than usual—her already pale face was drawn, her skin a nearly yellowish hue, and her beautiful red hair limp and lifeless. She had been for some time a little lacking in her usual energy, but I had passed it off as stress from her studies. Worriedly, I asked her about it after the outing.

"I'm just tired," she said, smiling weakly. "It will pass."

I was doubtful, but I did not want to press her.

Returning to Lowood, I was shocked to find a whole troupe of ambulances outside the dormitories.

"What in the world happened?" exclaimed Mrs. Burns. "Jane, I think I should perhaps wait before dropping you off; it might not be safe."

"Thank you," I said, "but I have to go in; you only had me signed out for three hours and if I'm late they'll give me kitchen duty."

"I would be happy to explain why. At least let me walk you to the door."

I agreed, and Mrs. Burns parked the car before walking me up to the dormitory entrance. A bunch of EMTs stood just inside the door.

"What in the world has happened?" Mrs. Burns asked one of the men.

"Food poisoning, we think," replied one of them. "Practically the whole school got it—anyone who ate lunch here today." He saw me. "You're not feeling too ill, are you?"

"No," I replied. "I didn't eat lunch here."

"Good thing," he said.

"May I go up to my room?"

"Yeah, but keep out of the way of the gurneys."

I quickly bid Mrs. Burns farewell before dashing up to my room. May was sitting on her bed, the only one in the room.

"Oh, Jane! Thank goodness you're here," gasped May. "Both Lucy and Polly ate it—today was hamburger day, you know. I got in line too late, and had to eat a peanut butter sandwich, instead. But, oh man, they looked so ill—they were throwing up and couldn't stop, and poor Polly was crying because she hurt so much—" May babbled, her voice cracking.

"Calm down, May," I said, as soothingly as I could. "They were taken to the hospital, yes?"

May nodded, tears in her eyes.

'They'll be fine, then. No one dies of food poisoning anymore—we have all of that advanced science and medicine now."

May nodded again.

"C'mon," I said, patting her back. "Take deep breaths; try to calm down. Everything's going to be all right."

After a few minutes, May was doing better. Outside our door we could hear the rush of gurneys and shouts of EMTs, mingled with the wails of other girls. Amidst it, we heard the bell ring.

"I don't think I could ever go to bed tonight," May said quietly.

"Neither do I. Do you want to go check on everyone else? I think Ms. Smith will be too busy to care."

May nodded, and we opened the door. Dodging the adults who were rushing through the hallways, we managed to reach Charlotte, Emily, and Maria's room. They and their roommate, a girl named Elizabeth, were all right; they had skipped lunch because Emily's mother had sent a parcel full of sweets to her daughter, who had shared it with everyone.

"I can't believe how lucky we are. But poor Lizzy!—her younger sister, Shirley, had a hamburger, just started puking nonstop…"

Lizzy stifled a sob. Charlotte patted her on the back.

Emily went on, "I think I can only name a dozen girls, besides us, who didn't get sick. Tomorrow, it's going to be just us n' the non-boarders in school."

Emily was right. The next day, almost all of my classes had ten girls or less. Helen didn't come to school, either (which didn't worry me as much—I figured it was a cold or other common virus since I knew she hadn't eaten the hamburger). The teachers were all distraught, and very distracted. We were given mostly worksheets to complete, instead of being taught.

School continued like that for a week. Reporters started showing up in the foyer, asking to speak with Ms. Smith or Mr. Brocklehurst. Policemen and health experts showed up in the cafeteria. Emily, Lizzy, and some other girls were taken out of school by their parents. Helen continued to be absent. May and I, confused beyond endurable levels, finally snuck off campus on Saturday to buy a newspaper.

"_E-coli_! The hamburgers had _E-coli_!" May shouted triumphantly as we read the front page news. "That's why no one's back yet; food poisoning isn't nearly as serious."

We read on, quickly growing more and more horrified as the article quoted the health experts ("Their sanitation practices were abominable!"), reporters ("Recently, Lowood has been cutting costs by laying off teachers, and buying cheaper food products from flakier businesses…"), and even hospital staff ("The girls are all very sick—two have died so far, and many others are in critical condition.").

"Jane?" May asked, voice shaking.

"Mmm?" I grunted, still reading.

"They said two people have died already."

"I know."

"Polly's mom came to collect her things this morning, while you were in the bathroom."

I took a deep breath. "All of her things?"

May sniffed. "All of her things."

"Maybe…maybe she's just planning on taking Polly out of school."

"Maybe. But she was crying. I offered her a tissue."

"Maybe we could ask. Do you know where Ms. Temple's office is?"

"Yeah."

We went there—a remote part of the school that I had not been in yet. We knocked on her door, and she opened it—looking more tired and sad than I thought her normally cheerful countenance could possibly be. "Good Afternoon, girls," she greeted.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Temple."

"Would you like to come in? I'm just about to have tea."

We went in. Ms. Temple took a metal pot from a hotplate and poured it into a chipped porcelain teapot.

"What would you like to ask me?" she said.

"We want to know—Polly's mother came this morning—we saw the newspaper—is Polly…?" May babbled.

Ms. Temple sighed, growing even sadder than she had been before. "You want to know if Polly is one of the girls who died?"

May and I nodded.

"Unfortunately, yes, girls. Polly passed away…two days ago. We were going to announce it tomorrow at church."

May sobbed. I just stood, frozen. My mind ran over the words. _Polly_…_dead_…_passed away_….It didn't seem real.

Ms. Temple handed us both a mug of tea. "We'll be bringing in counselors, if you need to talk to them. Or you could talk to me."

"It was the _e-coli_, right? From the hamburger?" I asked.

"Yes, Jane. Polly was very small, and I suppose it hit her harder than some of the other girls."

"Who was the other girl—the newspaper said there were two who died."

"Shirley Nicholls."

May sobbed again. "That's Lizzy's sister."

Ms. Temple nodded sadly.

We stayed for an hour, talking about anything but the deaths. Finally, at the end, I asked, "How is Lucy doing?"

Ms. Temple smiled for the first time that day. "She's fine. She's going to be discharged in a few days."

May and I both breathed great sighs of relief, but we were interrupted by the bell.

"Dinner time, girls. May, would you mind going ahead? I have something to tell Jane."

May nodded, and walked out, closing the door behind her. I turned back to Ms. Temple.

"You have no doubt also taken notice of your friend Helen's absence?"

I nodded as a feeling of dread enveloped me. My stomach twisted.

Ms. Temple sighed. "Helen is, and has for some time been, very ill." She paused, looking at me. "I suppose she never told you, but…she has Leukemia."

I looked up, shocked, suddenly comprehending Helen's weakened state.

Ms. Temple continued. "They thought two years ago that she might pull through; it was caught early, and the chemotherapy treatment had gotten rid of most of it. Unfortunately, Helen had to be readmitted to the hospital Sunday, after having lunch with you. They found that it was back—and worse than before. So much worse: the doctors say less than a month." She led me to a chair. "She's not got much time left."

I looked at her, but tears blurred my vision. I tried to hold in my pain, but a sob or two escaped. I covered my mouth with my hand, pressing as hard as I could.

"Her parents called the school this morning. She's been asking for you, and they want to take you to the hospital tomorrow after church to spend some time with her, if you want."

I nodded. Tears were slipping through my fingers, making them slippery. It was harder to hold in the sobs.

Ms. Temple handed me a tissue. "If you need some time, I can have Barbara bring up something from the Cafeteria."

I just nodded. She hugged me and left the room to find Barbara.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Jane Eyre.

A/N: I apologize for the delay, and I must warn you there will be another. I'm playing cello in a community theater production of Seussical, and am now also signed up to be in the pit for my high school's production of Pippin, so they will both be eating my life (what little of it I had). This will (hopefully) be the shortest chapter I ever post here.

* * *

I went through the rest of the day as if it were a dream (or, rather, a nightmare). I didn't tell the news to May, although she had also known Helen; I knew she was already having a hard time accepting the deaths of Polly and Lizzy. We both stayed mostly silent anyway, each submerged in our own thoughts.

The next morning, right after church, Mrs. Burns led me to her car and drove me to the hospital. The pediatric wing was also where the food poisoning patients were, so I was able to drop by Lucy's room before going to Helen's. She looked a little whiter and thinner than usual, and her face was also changed by sadness (she had also heard about Polly and Lizzy's death, and she had been the closest to both). We hugged and then talked a little before Mrs. Burns came back and led me to Helen's room.

"I'm not coming back to Lowood, Jane," Lucy had said. "My parents are pulling me out, and next week I'm going to be sent to another boarding school in France. I may never see you or May or anyone from Lowood again."

"France is a wonderful country, Lucy. It'll be cultural experience."

"I know—but I don't speak French at all!"

"You'll learn, and probably be speaking like a native in a year."

Lucy sighed. "I suppose. Tell May I said goodbye, and that I'll miss her."

"I will."

"Jane," said Mrs. Burns from the doorway. "Helen's awake now, if you want to see her."

Lucy hugged me. "I didn't know Helen was here, too."

I just nodded and squeezed her hand before joining Mrs. Burns.

Walking into Helen's room, which had been decorated with vases of flowers, cards, and even a few balloons, I found her so little changed that I came to doubt Ms. Temple's words. She seemed so normal and alive; my childish visions had created a dying Helen with corpse-like skin and blank, hallowed eyes such as I had seen on TV. The only evidence that she was ill was the collection of tubes and IVs arranged around her small frame.

Helen's eyes were closed, but I spoke anyway: "Hi, Helen."

She opened her eyes and looked at me, a faint smile on her lips. "Hello, Jane." Her voice was calm and warm; it sounded just as it had back at Lowood. I relaxed; surely Helen couldn't be so close to death when she sounded so alive. "Thank you for coming to see me."

We talked for a while. She had known about the _e-coli_ outbreak, and asked how everyone has fared. After a few hours, her parents said they were going to get some dinner to bring up to us. After they had left, Helen leaned in close to me.

"Jane," she said, her face calm but intensely focused on my face, "I know why you've come."

"Of course," I said, smiling. "I wanted to visit you."

"You came to say goodbye." Seeing my confused expression, she continued, "I know what the doctors have been saying, and I know I don't have long to live. I'm not scared—of dying, at least. I know where I'm going, where we all must one day go."

"Helen, you're going to get better again. You shouldn't talk like that."

"I can feel it, Jane. I can feel it coming—it's almost tangible, you know. And I'm not scared, not in the least."

I took a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. "You can't go, Helen. You can't leave me; you can't leave your parents."

"It is as God wills it to be," she said. "I was not made to last in this world, anyway. I have too many faults."

I was quiet, looking at her, trying not to burst out into tears.

Helen suddenly started to scoot over on her bed, leaving a space on the edge. "Come here, Jane, lie down with me for a while. There's some room."

Mindful of the IV, I crawled in next to her and grasped her hand. "You're not going to die for a while yet, right?"

She just smiled and hugged me. "I'm feeling tired right now, but I want to have you near. Are you quite comfortable, Jane?"

"Yes."

"Good night, then."

"Good night."

Helen closed her eyes, and her breathing soon became slower. As I drifted off, I was able to hear her heart and the heart monitor beat in a slow, rhythmic pattern next to my ear.

* * *

When I awoke, it was very noisy. I felt myself being lifted, and upon opening my eyes saw Mr. Burns above me.

"I'm sorry for waking you, Jane, but we need to let the doctors get to Helen."

He took me out of the room and put me on my feet. Through the window I watched nurses and doctors bustle around Helen's small frame. The heart monitor next to her bed was issuing a shrill noise and flashing red. "What's going on?"

Mr. Burns didn't answer. He only watched as a doctor applied an AED to Helen's chest. Her body lurched.

I stood and watched, horrified, as they repeatedly tried to defibrillate Helen. The heart monitor just kept flashing red. Mrs. Burns appeared down the hall, and upon seeing us standing outside of the room she ran towards us, almost overturning an empty gurney and orderly had been pushing down the hall. She saw the commotion in the room and turned, sobbing, to her husband.

A few moments later, one of the doctors came out and took off his face mask. Turning to the Burnses, he started, "I'm very sorry, but…"


End file.
